The Time That Is Given To Us
by Morganalafay
Summary: Nikki's father is murdered. Unable to cope with the death of the man she never forgave, Nikki becomes determined to discover the truth, despite potentially disastrous consequences. H/N. L/J.


_**Hello! I'm relatively new to this fandom, as I only recently began to watch the series, and this is my first attempt at a Silent Witness fanfiction. **_

_**This fic will have a fair amount of Harry/Nikki, and also some Leo/Janet.**_

_**Oh and I do know that at some point in the series, Nikki's father does die, so I am aware that I'm changing things. **_

_**The title comes from a quote by Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings, 'All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us'. **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Witness, or any of its characters. Only the plot is mine. **_

_**I hope you enjoy!**_

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_**The Time That Is Given To Us**_

_**Chapter 1 ~ Far worse **_

They were on lunch break when his phone rang.

Harry let it ring for a moment. The call had not interrupted anything, at least not a conversation, but he felt uncommonly irritated at it. They'd had a very busy week to say the least, and he had been enjoying the comfortable silence between them, a moment of peace in their chaotic world. He answered the phone with a heavy sigh, hoping that this next case wouldn't be quite as difficult as the last. 'Harry Cunningham'.

Nikki turned her head away from him as he listened to the information. They were sitting on a bench beneath a tree, its boughs barren of leaves, branches creeping like skeletal fingers across a dull grey sky. It was cold too, and she tucked her chin into her scarf as a particularly harsh wind blew across the park, dragging stray leaves and scraps of rubbish in its wake.

There was always a strangely surreal feeling when they finished a difficult case. It wasn't that the other cases were easy, she would never call them that, but there was less emotional strain, at least for them. She found it easier to distance her mind as she was supposed to. Difficult cases exhausted her, exhausted all of them, and it was moments like this, sitting in a deserted park with Harry for company, silent but attentive, their bodies closer than perhaps was strictly appropriate, that she savoured. She savoured them because they reminded her that not everything in her life consisted of death and grief and broken lives.

The last case had left them all emotionally and physically drained. It had been one of those cases that from the beginning had warned them of the difficulty to come. At the end of the day, they'd sat for hours, not speaking, their thoughts occupied with the lives they had just touched, taking what comfort they could from each other's presence. After hours of sitting, their muscles cramping, unable to gather enough energy to move and yet unwilling to sleep, Janet had arrived at the centre, perceptive as always. Her presence seemed to inject some life back into Leo, and for the first time that evening the sparkle returned to his eyes. It was refreshing to see a glimpse of their love, rather than the darkness the case had imprinted in their minds. Janet had offered the younger pathologists a lift, which they had immediately declined, preferring to leave the couple to themselves. In their absence, neither had moved, because Janet's arrival had reminded them both that they didn't have anyone waiting for them, and nothing to go home to, and they didn't want to face their memories alone.

They'd ended up back at her place. They knew each other well enough to know when they both needed company. She couldn't remember what film they'd watched. It hadn't been of much consequence. It was the company they needed, the presence of the other to keep the darkness away. They hadn't spoken, and eventually they'd both fallen asleep, curled up together on the couch, so close that the cold could not bother them, and the darkness was kept away.

Nikki sipped her coffee absently, her mind occupied with the previous night, eyes tracing a patter in the wooden bench. She broke away from her thoughts as Harry spoke, 'Someone's died again. Duty calls'.

She turned to face him once more, a tired smile playing about her mouth. 'How inconsiderate of them to interrupt your lunch break'.

Harry nodded seriously. 'Now that was just what I was thinking'.

Neither of their attempts at light heartedness succeeded very well. There was a suppressive feeling to the air, a weight that hung from their shoulders, as if the bleakness of the day had worked its way inside their souls, attracted to their unpleasant memories. Harry was silent for a moment, looking at her, his eyes taking in the slight downturn of her mouth, the dark circles beneath her eyes, the exhaustion abundantly clear in every movement she made. He knew he looked no better; in fact he was sure he looked worse. Nikki at least had some colour in her cheeks, whereas he looked far too pale. The wind changed direction, tossing her hair across her face. Her hair was perhaps the only bright thing in sight. Everything else was grey and dull.

'Would you like to come? I might need some help'. The request was not unexpected; he had asked her to accompany him before. The truth was that, selfish as it might be, he wanted her company.

Nikki nodded almost at once, perhaps feeling the same desire as he. She had nothing else to do really, and staying in this deserted park for the remainder of the day wasn't very appealing. Getting involved in another case might do her some good; it might prevent her from thinking about their previous case. Maybe this one wouldn't be as difficult.

* * *

The car came to an abrupt stop. The absence of movement and engine noise jerked Nikki to reality. She sat up slowly, groaning as her cramped muscles stretched, regretting the amount of time she had remained in a slumped position. She put her hand up to her head, pushing her curls off her face as she tried to take stock of where she was.

'You weren't asleep were you?' Harry's voice held a gentle tease, though there was a ting of concern in his expression when she turned to face him. More often than not, difficult cases brought them together, eroding the walls they had built around themselves, breaking down their boundaries. His protectiveness of her increased, and her attention to his subtle signs of closing off sharpened. Their concern for one another heightened, and they cared more than usual.

It was at times like that when they let themselves think of what could be, and times like that when it almost _was_.

That openness, that vulnerability, hadn't subsided yet. There hadn't been time.

She shrugged. 'I don't think so. I might have drifted, but I don't think I slept'. She pulled her back into a bun and climbed out of the car, hoping that the cool air would refresh her a bit. Harry searched his boot for their scrubs and joined her by the car, his eyes scanning the area.

They were standing at the edge of a hill, with the city silhouetted before them. The hill sloped down towards the river bank, where they knew they would find the body, though they couldn't actually see it. From their vantage point they had a perfect view of the river, a long strip of grey ribbon winding away from sight.

There were several police cars parked beside them, and a number of people mulling about, including a two very pale and shaking children, perhaps just moving into their teens.

Without speaking, the two pathologists donned the scrubs, and then moved forwards towards the bank.

Nikki paused at the crest of the hill, gazing down at the white tent erected by the edge of the river. It was a strange sight against a bleak background, the light reflecting off the canvas in a way that was almost blinding, despite the sun's weak presence in the murky grey sky.

She wasn't sure whether it was the depressing picture that caused it, but a sudden feeling of deep unease overcame her. Dread settled in her stomach and crept into her chest, causing her heart to jump uncomfortably. She felt cold.

'Nikki?' A heavy hand settled on her shoulder. She blinked several times before her eyes refocused and she saw Harry. His brow was furrowed, concern palpable in his eyes. 'You alright?' They hadn't even seen the crime scene yet – he wasn't quite sure what could have disturbed her.

Nikki shook herself slightly and made an effort to smile at him. It felt strained and unnatural, and she could see that Harry wasn't convinced. Her face was a little paler than usual, her gaze already returning to the crime scene. 'Just… just a feeling'.

Harry didn't laugh. Nikki's 'feelings' often turned out to be strangely accurate.

'Are you two the pathologists?'

The pair turned around. A tall, dark haired woman was approaching, her stride elegant and graceful despite the combination of uneven, muddy ground and heeled boots.

She eyed their scrubs with a slight smile. 'Well, I suppose that's a rather obvious question, isn't it?' She extended a hand. 'DCI Elinor Austen'. She was quite a beautiful woman, with angular, regal features and dark, expressive eyes. Her impressive height was rather intimidating, accentuated by her slim build, but her smile was kind.

Harry shook her hand, smiling slightly. 'Harry Cunningham'. Her hand was fine boned and soft but strong.

Nikki also shook hands. 'Nikki Alexander. Nice to meet you'. It was an automatic statement rather than heartfelt, as these things often were.

Austen smiled wryly. 'Yes, pity it couldn't have been under more pleasant circumstances'.

Harry indicated the children. 'Did they discover the body?' The two children were sitting in the back seat of a police car, wrapped in blankets. Someone had provided them with a chocolate bar, which they were steadily passing back and forth between them. Some of the colour had returned to their faces.

The woman grimaced. The idea of children being involved in any sort of murder case was just as unpleasant to her as it was to them. 'Unfortunately so. Apparently they often come down here to play. I doubt they'll be doing it again very soon. Shall we?'

Together they descended the hill, carefully, mindful that this was a crime scene. Nikki's sense of uneasiness increased with each step, and she could feel her heart beating rapidly against her chest. She could see Harry watching her in her peripheral vision, and wondered whether she should bother explaining her unease. She decided against it in the end, as explaining something she didn't really understand wasn't likely to help at all.

'I'm afraid that you're going to have to move quickly, we've only got a few hours before the tide comes in'. Austen ducked her head as she stepped carefully into the tent, holding the flap open to allow the pathologists to step in. 'As far as we can tell there weren't any witnesses. As experts, we'll leave you to form the official cause of death, but it's pretty clear that he didn't commit suicide'.

There was a man in the tent, standing close to the body, as if keeping guard. He was certainly built for it, Harry observed with some astonishment, noting his imposing height and strong physique. He looked up as they entered. Despite his impressive stature, Harry observed that he had an open, honest face and bright intelligent eyes, crinkled by laugh lines. Currently, his lips were twisted in displeasure. He inclined his fair head in their general direction. Austen indicated him. 'This is Detective Inspector James Holmes. James, this is Dr Harry Cunningham and Dr Nikki Alexander'.

Harry's eyebrows rose, momentarily distracted from the task at hand. 'Holmes, did you say?'

A spark of amusement lit the man's tired eyes, though his smile was wry. 'Don't start'.

The light-heartedness that had momentarily pierced the sombre mood of the tent evaporated as all attention focused on the task at hand. The pathologists moved forward carefully, their eyes now directed at the body they had come to see.

The victim was lying flat on their stomach. Arms resting on their back, hands crossed, it appeared at a first glance that they were tied up, though on closer inspection Harry saw that there were no binds. 'See these marks?' He indicated the bruising snaking around the man's wrists. The detectives leaned closer. 'He was tied up, but someone either removed the binds before or after death'. He frowned slightly. 'Did it rain last night?'

Austen nodded. 'It started to rain round one in the morning'.

He indicated the man's soaked coat and damp hair. 'Well that gives us an indication of when he was killed'. He lifted the man's arm and inspected the underside of his coat. 'His front's dry mostly, so I assume he got wet from the rain, rather than the river'.

'So he must have been killed sometime after it began to rain then'.

Nikki moved close to the head, examining the tangle of grey hair at the back of the man's neck, mattered with dark blood. Carefully lifting pushing the hair back, she grimaced slightly. 'I see what you mean by it clearly not being suicide. He's been shot once at the base of the skull'.

'Clear cause of death?' Holmes leaned over her to get a better look at the entry wound.

She shrugged. 'It could be, but there might be something else. We'll obviously have to do a post mortem before we can safely determine how he died'. She didn't say it, because she didn't like to make assumptions, but the bullet was most likely the cause of death.

'He could have been executed. It explains why he was tied up'. Harry inched closer to the body, preparing to turn it over. Nikki nodded, privately agreeing. 'Ready to turn him over?'

The man's face was obscured with mud and strands of hair, and little bits of gravel and stone had stuck to his skin. Harry reached over and pushed the man's hair back, revealing his face to the harsh light.

There was a split second in time where Nikki just stared at the man's face, unmoving and uncomprehending, simply not registering what she was seeing. Everything seemed to stand still for that moment, and she subconsciously wanted to cling to it, to cling to that ignorance and indifference.

And then she saw Harry's face.

And something shattered. Something in her reality broke and tumbled away, and something inside her screamed.

She couldn't see properly. There was a white film across her gaze, thick and heavy, swirling towards opaque crystal in the centre so that all her vision was focused on the one thing she wanted to flee from. Noise was muted, muffled, voices an indistinct jumble of words and sound and it felt a little like being trapped under water, with nothing but the frantic beat of her heart to keep her company. She couldn't breathe. Her mouth was open, she knew that, could feel the cool air on her lips, but she couldn't breathe, couldn't inhale, because her throat was closed.

There were hands on her shoulders pulling her up, pulling her away from the body lying at her feet, strong, familiar hands but she still couldn't see and she still couldn't breathe and now she was aware of panic taking hold and her brain wasn't working.

She stumbled out of the tent, catching a glimpse of the two detective's equally bemused faces. The light was blinding and she screwed her eyes shut, trying to curl up, to retreat, to get away from the horrible truth that was lying behind her.

Hands touched her face, warm and rough, and she was dimly registering that they had removed their gloves. The gentle contact, familiar even in her shocked state, steadied her. The touch was like an anchor keeping a ship moored in a furious storm. She focused on those hands, felt her ability to breathe return, and gradually the panic began to drift away, and her other senses returned. She could taste freshness in the air that heralded rain, smell it too, and now her hearing had returned she could hear a warning rumble in the distance. Her vision cleared and focused, and she found that she was staring at the gravel beneath her feet, small shifting stones that she could pick out individually. Harry's voice reached her, piercing through the last of the haze. 'Breathe, Nikki. Just breathe. Don't think about it. Just focus on breathing'. He repeated these words like a mantra, over and over until she realised that she was doing just that.

She didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to see that this was real, that what had just happened wasn't a figment of her imagination. But he seemed to realise that the panic had subsided, because he tilted her face up towards him, forcing her to look at him.

She saw in his eyes a knowledge that this case was going to be far worse than the last.

She saw in his eyes that it was real.

Her father was dead.

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_**So what do you think? **_

_**Please leave a review! Constructive criticism is welcome, but please, no flames :)**_


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